


I'll Go With You

by jscribbles



Series: 15x18 DESTIEL IS CANON MOTHERFUCKERSSSSS [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: 15x18 coda, DESTIEL IS CANON MOTHERFUCKERS, Grief, Love Confession, M/M, Reunion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:54:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27446713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jscribbles/pseuds/jscribbles
Summary: A coda to 15x18 "Despair".He hadn't said anything. He hadn't said anything when he'd been given the chance.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester
Series: 15x18 DESTIEL IS CANON MOTHERFUCKERSSSSS [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2011012
Comments: 93
Kudos: 824
Collections: Destiel is Canon - 15x18 Codas, SPN Finale "Destiel is CANON" Collection





	I'll Go With You

**Author's Note:**

> I've been suffering from a two month dry spell on writing SPN fanfic, and let me tell you.... DESTIEL IS CANON, MOTHERFUCKERS. Y'ALL CAN'T STOP ME NOW.
> 
> Everyone's been writing amazing codas that have reduced me to a blubbering mess, and I love the entire fandom for it.

He got up. 

Eventually, he got up. 

His body ached; the muscles in his back screamed in protest, having been curled forward, bearing the weight of grief and a hard concrete floor pressed into his spine. His nails left aching grooved in his palms and his scalp ached where he'd grabbed at his hair and tugged. 

The skin of his cheeks itched, stinging under steady streams of dried tears that burned. His skin was hot and damp under his clothing, sweat drying there from panic, and horror, and pain. Hot flashes powered by an engulfing, suffocating heartache rumbled through his body every time he heard—

_"I love you."_

But his hands shook, numb and cold. His chin wobbled as he inhaled, a whimper escaping his trembling lips. The grief, the grief, good god, the grief—

It hurt. It hurt. Dean wanted to scream. He wanted to claw the memory from his brain, he—

Those eyes. So blue, so bright, so free. 

Dean had watched those tears drip off Castiel's chin but paid no mind to where they'd landed because he hadn't paid any mind to anywhere but Castiel's face. As Castiel's pain visibly lifted from his burdened shoulders, Dean's had been weighed down, the pain solidifying into his chest like lead.

_"I love you."_

The room smelled like lightning, like rain, and earth, like _him—_

Dean got up, unsteady. The phone on the floor between his legs had long stopped vibrating. The sound of silence was deafening, and Dean had to leave because among the scent of _him_ there was also the scene of copper—sharp, fresh. The handprint was still hot and wet on his shoulder—

At first he crawled, sliding the phone into his pocket with fingers he couldn't feel, and then he slid one foot up, the sole thumping on the floor. He gripped the arm of the chair in the room and pulled himself up onto both feet. 

It only took him two wavering steps for him to realise he was standing in the same spot as before. The spot where he had stood and done _nothing_. 

Sick. He felt sick to his stomach. He felt black, shining sickness coil around his heart. He desperately wanted it to lurch him back, away from this reality where Cas was gone. He wanted to follow him into the writhing, bulging, ugly, empty portal. 

_I'll go with you._

* * *

Sam and Jack came eventually. They found him standing in the library. He wasn't sure how he'd gotten there. 

They’d burst into the room in an explosion of panic (" _Dean?! I thought you were gone too, y-your_ _phone_ —) and then despair. 

_"They're gone. All of them. Even Donna. Jody. There’s no one left."_

It took them a minute. Dean watched them through a tunnel, the edges of his vision shaking. 

It took them a minute but when they got there, Dean saw Sam's eyes drift down to his shoulder, where Dean was gripping tight, the cooling blood concealing against his hand. 

He couldn't let go. 

_"Where's Cas?"_

_"Dean, where is he?"_

_"Dean?_

_"...Dean?"_

Jack went pale, his lips pressed together until they turned white. He didn't say anything. Of course he didn't. He knew.

Sam's footsteps were slow and he was soon crowding Dean's field of vision, his hands coming up slowly like he was soothing a wounded animal. 

That's what Dean was, of course. Wounded. Barely a person anymore.

Sam was gentle as he pulled Dean's hand away from his shoulder. He got resistance at first; Dean's fingers dug into the fabric, warm blood seeping under his nails. But then...he let go.

And with that, letting go of Castiel's hand, the strings were cut, shredded, and so was Dean's sanity. 

He fell and Sam caught him, but Dean still felt like he'd completely fallen apart and it had nothing to do with his knees hitting the floor or his body slumping forward into his brother’s arms. 

Sam said his name over and over again.

Dean opened his mouth against the rough material of Sam's jacket, willing words to leave his throat but he felt like he was choking on black sludge. Again, he wished it would take him.

_I'll go with you._

Somehow, though, he breathed, "It took him." _From me_.

"What… _Who_ , Dean? Chuck?"

Chuck. As if Chuck fucking mattered anymore. 

He heard Jack approach and lower himself into a kneel, his hand on Sam's shoulder. The kid looked at Dean with pinched eyes, eyes so blue Dean had to look away, turn his face down into Sam's neck, and he pressed his cheek into a wet patch he hadn't even realised he'd made. Of course, his eyes burned and he realised he was crying again. Harsh breaths were muffled by the crinkled fabric of Sam's shirt. He exhaled to fill his lungs, when Sam's arm came up and around him, holding him steadily even though Dean felt like he was being pulled apart. 

Perhaps to exercise mercy, Jack explained the deal. Perhaps so Dean didn't have to. He told them about the Empty and Castiel's curse. He recounted the tale to Sam. 

When he got to the part about Castiel's happiness and what it meant, Sam pulled away and Dean watched his green eyes widen. He saw them search Dean's face and then slowly, slowly, slowly...saw those eyes rest on the bloody handprint, now smudged. 

Between his legs, Dean squeezed his wet hand into a fist, the last of Castiel smeared in the crevices of his palm and slippery between his fingers. 

Sam assured him they'd end this, they'd find a way. 

They'd defeat Chuck together.

They'd rescue their friends. 

Sam said Cas was family, their brother; And they didn't leave family behind. 

Sam was a fool. 

Castiel had never been their brother. Not to Dean, at least. 

* * *

" _I didn't write this ending_ —"

Jack had closed the book, the heavy black leather-bound book written in Death's ink. It thumped to the ground in the Empty, landing on the floor in the echoing void. He'd smiled, and raised a hand to God, and his fist uncurled to point at Dean. 

"This isn't the story you wrote, maybe not your ending," Jack had breathed, his voice steady yet echoing in the nothingness. "But it's the ending on _these_ pages We—" He looked between Sam and the Shadow—in Meg’s form—who stood to the side, watching the scene unfold with wide, crazy eyes. "We are the monsters at the end of this book."

Pressing his foot to the back of Chuck's form as it kneeled in front of him, Dean wrenched his arms back with everything in him, and he slid Death's scythe—a gift from the Shadow—across Chuck's throat. 

He was sure Chuck's blood poured from the wound and dripped into the nothingness under their feet, but he couldn’t see, his vision wet and blurred. 

Dean, Sam, and Jack covered their eyes as there was an explosion. Light and heat erupted around them, filling every infinite corner of the Empty with a hybrid of grace and black smoke. Dean heard Chuck's roar, and picked out a high pitched shriek that he immediately knew was Amara. It vibrated in his soul, her death. For a moment he almost felt the Mark burn on his arm as if it was still there, and he found himself screaming too.

And then, like a vacuum, it stopped. No sound, no heat, nothing.

Dean wasn't sure if there was something quieter than silence, but if there was, this was it. When he opened his eyes, he saw blackness. Nothing above him. He felt like his back was pressed to the floor but wasn't even sure if a floor existed here. 

Regardless, he sat up, letting the heavy steel of Death's weapon roll from his hand. A ways away, Sam was sitting up too, his face drained and his eyes darting around in panic. 

"Did we—" Sam choked out, but was interrupted by the Shadow, who stood before them, no longer shaped like Meg. It was a humanoid, but shimmering, a roiling figure in shining black. 

A hole opened in its rippling surface and it croaked in a wavering, deep hiss, "Get. Out."

Jack nodded and moved towards Sam to help him up. 

The Shadow panted, its hunched back rising and falling. It raised a long, eerie finger and rattled; "Everyone. _Get out_."

It only took a moment for Dean to realise it wasn't pointing at him. He hesitated, then followed the shaking finger, twisting his torso to look over his shoulder. 

From the floor, figures rose in black goo, rising from the nothingness and taking form before their eyes. 

"No more _screaming!"_ the Shadow roared. 

The figures took shape, twisting and writhing from the ground. Their eyes blinked open in varying shades of glowing white and blue, while others radiated red. Dean heard Sam gasp behind him and followed the sound to see that this was happening all around them. Hundreds of shapes rose from the black, and when they stood on two feet, the sludge dripped away with horrific wet, squelching sounds. 

All around them stood hundreds, if not thousands of angels and demons, who looked stunned and petrified. They looked like they'd been wrenched from the depths of their worst nightmares, their faces pale and eyes haunted.

"Go the fuck back to where you came from. Return to where you belong,” the Shadow instructed savagely. "It is time for me to _sleep!"_

The angels exploded into ethereal radiant white mist and Sam, Dean, and Jack craned their necks to watch them shoot up, up, up...and away. 

The demons growled and snapped but disappeared in the same manner, shot down, down, down until the red mist disappeared into blackness.

And then it was just them. 

"Are we going to die?" Dean whispered. Hope blossomed in his chest. His shoulder burned.

The Shadow spat into the ground, descended onto Dean, its footsteps pounding. It shook and pulsed above him, its gaping mouth splitting to croak, "I fucking hope so. Now _get out."_

It raised its fingers and snapped. 

Blackness. 

* * *

Everyone was back. 

Jack, Sam, and Dean sat around the map table in the war room. They had called _everyone._

Everyone picked up. 

Except one. Dean tried the number over and over. 

Sam and Jack were careful to say nothing when they were finished calling their friends. When Dean was left staring at his phone, dialling and dialling and dialling the same number over again, Sam put on the TV and watched the news quietly. He and Jack only spoke to comment on how the humans on TV seemed to not realise they'd been dead, that they'd been blinked from existence. 

He should've been happy. They got what they wanted. God was gone. They were free. 

Dean didn't feel free.

He dialled Castiel’s number again. 

* * *

Eileen was coming over. 

Sam could finally talk about her because she was fine. She was alive. He'd be able to tell her he loved her. He'd be able to hold her. He'd be able to never let her go. 

"When you went to Heaven to check on the angels…" Sam exhaled slowly through his nose, talking to Jack but watching Dean clutch his phone. "Did… Was he… I mean—"

"No one's seen him." Jack ran his finger over the border of Nevada on the map table. Strained, he said quietly, "Cas isn't there."

"But we saw the angels," Sam pleaded, hope devoid in his tone despite his words. "They all…"

"I can't—Don't. I—" Dean choked out, speaking for the first time about Cas. He'd been able to contribute to the plan, to strategize with them when they realised they could use Jack to trap God in the Empty and finish things. He'd be able to call their friends, Jody, Donna, even Becky, to ensure they were alive. Those words had come easily, they’d been a script. 

But he hadn't spoken about _him,_ because if he did—

"I'll fall apart," was all he said.

Sam recognized those words and his face wavered as he realised what they meant. Jack already knew what they'd meant; maybe Cas had told him. 

Sam and Jack exchanged looks. 

"We'll find him—"

"DON'T!" Dean surged to his feet and slammed his hands down on the table. His phone rattled across the surface and Cas' voicemail picked up, quiet and tinny from the device. 

_"You've reached Castiel's voicemail. Please make your voice a m—"_

"We’re not going to _find_ him because he's not _lost!"_ Dean screamed, his nails scratching across the table top with a _krrrrrtch_ that made Sam wince. "He's not fucking lost, he's _dead! He's fucking dead because of me!"_

Jack's face fell, his eyes wide. "Dean, Castiel wouldn't want you to think that. He loved y—"

Dean stumbled back, nearly tripping on his chair. All the blood in his face drained. He grabbed at the front of his shirt and hissed, "Don't fucking say it. Tha—that's the reason he's gone. I-I'm the reason—he told me, he—I just stood there a-and—"

Sam and Jack rose to their feet, both moving towards him, but Sam reached him first, grabbing Dean's hand and supporting him as Dean found himself, yet again, sinking to the ground. His brother guided him back and his ass thumped against the library floor, his legs bowed and twisted on the library steps. Sam sat beside him, squeezing his hand and resting his palm on Dean's sweating back. 

No one asked him to speak and he didn't fucking want to, but he opened his mouth to try and get a breath; he couldn't breathe, couldn't think—

"I lied to myself for...for all… All this time, I thought he didn't… I didn't think he would feel how I…" Dean raised a hand to his mouth, squeezing, trying to push the words back in. He felt like he was drowning, wanting to gasp for air but knowing if he took breath into his lungs he might speak again—

"He loved me," Dean choked out, raising the hand to his eyes, his fingertips digging into his hairline. "All this time. He did...did it all for me. H-he thought I was worth i-it. He thought I was worth falling in love with and I f-fucking let him down. Again. I had time to...to _say_ something and I didn't."

No one said anything. No words of comfort. But Sam held his hand anyway, and Jack leaned forward, hugging Dean, his face resting on his shoulder.

"He died thinking I didn't love him," Dean whispered, sniffing wetly, staring at the leg of the map table. 

He felt so lost. Despite his family sitting on either side of him like guardian angels, he felt hollow, pain raking at the cavity of his chest. His actually guardian angel was fucking dead, and it was his fault. Again. 

He wanted to scream. 

Sam exhaled shakily and a teardrop fell onto Dean's hand and rolled off into his jeans. On his shoulder, Jack made a small, high noise in his throat and Dean felt a hot, slow breath through his shirt from the kid, leaving his skin damp.

His face scrunched up and he bowed his head, his eyes stinging. 

The three of them jumped as the bunker door released a long croak and swung back. Jack lifted his face, Sam got to his feet and Dean raised his eyes to see Eileen slipping through the heavy door and holding it open. 

"Eileen!" Sam exclaimed with laughter in his voice after she’d turned to grin at him, leaning over the rail to stare adoringly, her eyes wet with happiness. Sam was staring up at her with a joy Dean knew even Cas' death could not prevent. He didn't blame Sam, not really. He knew what Eileen meant to him; a future, love. A beacon of light in the dark shithole of their lives.

"I'm okay," she said, signing and laughing airily. 

Sam's grin was splitting his face, bracketed by tear tracks that ran freely. Dean watched his brother sign up at his partner, and while he had only mouthed it to her, he knew what Sam was saying. 

Eileen, though, spoke out loud, signing back. "I love you, too. Idiot."

Dean must've made a noise. Or maybe Jack just knew. He took the hand Sam had left empty and gave it a squeeze. 

When Dean looked over, Jack's eyes were soft. 

"I'm sorry, Dean."

Dean opened his mouth to say...say...something, but—

Jack's head jerked back towards Eileen, looking like a dog who just smelled a rabbit. "Dean—"

"Look who I found hiking up the road," Eileen exclaimed, her curtain of dark waves rippling as she turned to gesture behind her. 

Castiel stepped through the doorway, looking around the bunker with a surprising air of hesitance, but his face broke into a smile as he joined Eileen at the railing.

Both Sam and Jack made exclamations of excitement and shock. Dean felt the edges of his vision go black and his lungs screamed for air.

Eileen made her way down the steps with Castiel following behind her, looking around the bunker like he'd never seen it before. 

Obviously he thought he'd never see it again. 

Jack threw himself to his feet and ran to Sam's side as Eileen threw her arms around Sam's neck and let herself be raised off her feet as Sam laughed and squeezed her for dear life. Jack stood before Castiel, breathed his name, and was gentler than Eileen as he let himself be pulled into Castiel's arms. 

Over Jack's shoulder, Cas was staring at Dean, eyes red and puffy.

Dean's vision was trembling and his entire body felt numb, blood rushing in his ears. It occurred to him that he was going mad, or at the very least going to pass out. If he wasn't sitting down already or part-way through having an out of body experience, he might've asked for help. 

Why was no one else descending into insanity? Why was everyone else not disconnecting from reality entirely? Why was everyone treating this like a regular reunion, like their usual reconnection with those they'd lost before? This _wasn't the same._ The _world_ was not the same. 

Everything was different. Dean felt different. 

He'd been convinced that this time it was real, that death was permanent, that he'd never see Cas again—

He rose to his feet on autopilot as Cas released Jack. 

Dean and Cas stared at each other, as this always did—although this time felt like the first. 

It felt like forever, but eventually, Castiel said, “Hello, Dean.”

When did they even get so close? Cas was there, less than an arm’s reach, looking unsure, his cheeks coloured in a patchy red, his eyes shining.

“I…” Castiel exhaled audibly, visibly lost for words.

His body numb, his chest exploding into pieces at the familiar, real smell of rain and lightning and the crisp morning air that wafted all around him, Dean fell to his knees.

Everyone stilled. Sam, Jack, and Eileen were watching, but Dean only saw Cas standing in front of him, his fingers flexing at his side. Cas made to step back, looking down in alarm and blinking quickly. But before anyone could say anything, or question what was going on, or move to help him up, Dean began to weep. He shuffled forward on his knees and curled his arms around Castiel’s waist, pressing his face against the soft cotton of Castiel’s shirt. 

“Dean,” Cas choked out, his stomach flexing and fluttering under Dean’s cheek. Dean felt a warm, familiar hand on his shoulder, right where the dried blood was starting to flake over the wrinkles in the fabric. Cas’ other hand hesitated at first—Dean could feel it, the warmth near his ear—before it rested on the top of Dean’s head, sliding down the side to cup the back of his neck.

“You don’t have to do this,” Castiel rasped, his voice watery.

“It took you,” Dean sobbed, his fingers flexing in the material of Castiel’s trench coat. His stubble scratched against the blue silk tie. “I saw it take you.”

Castiel’s remained still, his hand warm but unmoving as it cradled Dean’s neck. “Yes,” was all he said.

Everyone was quiet. The room was filled with not a drop of noise and Dean worried in an anxiety-fuelled moment that he was still in the Empty, swallowed by the sound of nothing. But eventually, he heard low murmurs and shuffling feet. He opened his blurry, swollen eyes to see Sam lead Jack and Eileen away. Their footsteps faded to nothing after a long minute.

Castiel’s hand moved then, his thumb sliding over the short damp hairs on the back of Dean’s head. 

“Please get up, Dean. I don’t deserve… I said what I said to save us, to...feel some semblance of peace, of happiness. In the end, all I wanted to tell you that I… I wanted to save you.” A shaking, rasping breath. “I love you, but I know I can’t have you. I didn’t intend to make you feel guilty or put another burden on your shoulders. I don’t expect...”

Cas’ voice sounded heavy with regret—as it always had, Dean realised. Castiel had always sounded resigned, alone, regretful, Dean just hadn’t heard or noticed it because he hadn’t ever had the privilege to hear Castiel truly happy. The contrast was stark and striking, and it fucking killed him. He’d thought he was heartbroken before, but this? This was worse. So much worse.

He wanted to see Castiel’s face break into that easy, blissful, beatific smile again. He wanted to never hear anything but that voice sounding free and rapturous. 

He could have pulled away and looked up into Castiel’s eyes when he said it, but he didn’t want to see the crushing regret or pain in those blue eyes. Not again, not ever again.

So he said it into Castiel’s middle, hearing him breathing—alive—above him, feeling the fast inhale and exhale, feeling the warmth under his face and engulfed in his arms. He couldn’t let go even if he wanted to.

“You were wrong,” Dean said quietly, hot tears running down his face and soaking into Castiel’s tie. “The one thing you think you couldn’t have, the one thing you wanted… Cas, you can have it.”

Silence. Cas’ hand tightened on his shoulder. “What?”

“I want it, too.”

Maybe they were still in the Empty. Time and space hovered in the air around then, suspended. 

“Dean,” Castiel breathed, his breath hitched, his voice thick and ruined. “Don’t do this, you don’t have t—”

“I love you,” Dean whispered. Unsatisfied with himself, he cleared his throat and sniffed hard, nuzzling his face against Castiel’s middle, shuffling his knees closer until they bumped the tips of Cas’ shoes. Louder, he repeated , “I love you.”

“Like a brother,” Castiel said stiffly. His hand stilled on the back of his head.

At that, Dean finally found the strength to pull back, to slid his hands around Castiel’s waist and down onto his hips. Sitting on his heels, Dean looked up at Cas, staring, drinking him in, worshiping him on his knees. 

“No,” Dean insisted, shaking his head. “No. Fuck… No, Cas. I just said that because I… I never knew what to do with—” He gestured at his chest, swirling his hand uselessly, hoping it said something but it probably looked like every other vague and stunted expression of his emotions. 

Furious with himself, he got to his feet and stared at Castiel as he had done hundreds of times before, and hoped that Cas could see it in his eyes—could see that he’d never meant for him to be loved like a brother, like the ever-vague concept of ‘family’.

So like Castiel had done with him, he bared his soul.

Stepping towards him, Dean reached forward and slid a hand on Cas’ shoulder and he gripped it tight, giving him a shake. With his other hand on his own chest, Dean spoke his truth, his face splitting into a soft smile.

“You were right; happiness is in just being, in just saying it. But there’s happiness in having it, too. I didn’t think I’d ever be able to have you so… I said it. I said I love you like a brother, like family, because I didn’t know anyone could ever take my love as anything else. Didn’t think I was worthy, or pure enough.”

Castiel swallowed, the noise thick and audible. He was blinking hard, his eyes red like they’d been in the dungeon, the same tears balancing on his lashes. He wasn’t smiling though, not yet. 

Dean was determined to make it happen.

“I know how you see yourself,” Dean said, repeating Castiel’s earlier words, determined to make the angel understand that he wasn’t the only one who didn’t love themselves as they should. To prove his point, he raised his hand and placed it on Castiel’s face, thrilled when the angel’s eyes widened and in doing so, urged a tear to roll down his face. Dean tilted his head and smiled, brushing it away with his thumb. Under his palm, he felt Cas’ skin hum.

“You’ve said to me before; you think you’re nothing. But you’re not nothing, Cas. You—” He leaned forward, his smile widening and he laughed wetly at the precious look of confusion on the angel’s face. “—are everything. To me. You said that I’m what drives you, what taught you to love. You said you cared about people because of me? Fuck, Cas. You, _you_ are what kept me from doing some dark shit, from losing myself. I kept trying to be good, to do the right thing, and it was always because I didn’t want you to look at me different. My guardian angel who never left my side, who never turned his back on me.

“Yeah, sure,” he conceded, reaching up to wipe at his face and laugh roughly, “it was to save the world and to protect Sam and our friends, too. But...I coulda made a lot of choices that…” He shrugged. “Anyway, I didn’t. Because of you. Because I love you and I couldn’t handle it if you left me, if you made a _choice_ to leave me.”

Cas bowed his head, squeezing his eyes closed. In the same thick, trembling, tearful voice he’d used to admit that Dean had changed him, Castiel croaked, “You don’t have to say these things.”

Dean ignored him, stepping close, impossible close. The closest he’d ever been because he’d never let himself before, and he said through his teeth, his hand flexing on Castiel’s face; “ _You_ are the most caring, the most selfless, the most _loving_ person I will ever know. Knowing you? _That_ had changed me. You reached out to me through darkness and Hell—literally—”

They both laughed, Castiel bowing his head to chuckle damply into his hand, a tear dribbling over his fingers. 

“I cared because you cared. Remember when I wanted so desperately not to care about Jack? You made me care. So many times I lost myself, and lost faith in humanity. And _you_ , an angel who wasn’t supposed to love people, humanity, _me,_ you brought me back to myself and you made me care, and love.”

“It’s because I love you,” Castiel sobbed, lifting his head, his lips splitting into a large smile, his eyes twinkling. “I did all of it for you.”

Elated, exploding with joy—a part of him thought Castiel might’ve taken it all back, revealed that it’d all been some kind of lie, a scheme—Dean stepped so close their knees bumped and he could feel the puffs accompanying light sobs against his lips. Their breath mingled and their gazes locked as Dean finally, truly said; “You have changed me, Castiel. I love you.”

Together, they sighed, entirely happy. 

“Why does this sound like a beginning?” Castiel breathed against Dean's lips.

With a smile, and a soft nudge of his nose against Cas’, Dean whispered, “Because it is.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed this fic where Dean spends 60% of it on the floor. Please leave me a comment to let me know how big of a hot crying mess you are after 15.18.
> 
> Happy Destiel is Canon Week!
> 
> EDIT: This now has a smutty part two! [Click here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27515503) to check it out if you love smooches and luuuuurve-making between these two idiots.
> 
> If you're in the market for a longer fix-it fic for 15.20 (lol aren't we all??), I just recently posted [The Weight of Silence](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27762622/chapters/67960003). Check it out! Hopefully it helps mend your heart after the finale(s).


End file.
